


Overthinking

by JakAshley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JakAshley/pseuds/JakAshley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after the maze challenge of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the death of Cedric Diggory, Harry Potter spends the night thinking about the situation's he has been in over his years at Hogwarts that led up to the resurrection of Lord Voldemort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overthinking

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Story I have published online. I hope you enjoy it.

Harry Potter.  
The Boy Who Lived.  
The one who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named at the age of one.  
The one expected to be the Savior of The Wizarding World.  
The phrases echoed though his mind as he sat alone, quietly watching the star's through his beside window. His room-mates were sound asleep around him but he knew that he wasn't getting any good rest tonight. He thought about it often, what society expected of him. It's a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it was only getting heavier with each passing year.  
At eleven, he was just The Boy Who Lived, known and awed by wizards everywhere. He fought a mountain troll, faced a three headed dog, and protected the Philosopher's Stone. At twelve he was The Heir of Slytherin, the next possible Dark Lord, all because of the rare ability to speak Parseltongue. He was ostracized from his friends and most of the school, he killed the Basilisk, and saved another student's life. At thirteen he was being hunted by a supposedly insane convict, out for his blood after so many years being locked away in prison. The man had been wrongly convicted of betraying his parent's and murdering another man. That convict turned out to be his God-Father, who he fought the Dementor's of Azkaban to protect. This year, at fourteen he was ridiculed and judged for having his name entered in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. This year he was abandoned by his best friend, forced to participate in a potentially life threatening magical tournament, witnessed the death of another competitor and unwillingly take part in the resurrection of the Dark Lord Voldemort. The man who murdered his parent's and failed to kill him.  
He couldn't see how this could get any worse, that was until he was told he had to once again spend the summer at the Dursley's house. Even after four year's he still didn't understand why he couldn't just stay with the Weasley's. He has told Professor Dumbledore many times how much he doesn't like his relatives, but every year he was sent back to Little Whinging to wait out the summer. This one would undoubtedly be worse, with Voldemort back, Cedric dead, and everything seeming to be flipped on it side. He watched absentmindedly as a familiar snowy owl flew past his window, wondering just what would happen to him and his friends next year if things kept advancing on this course. Probably better not to try an imagine anything, lest he set things in motion all on his own. He sighed heavily, standing up and stretching his arms back. He felt a tingling sensation begin on his forehead, trailing lazily over his famous scar. It had been happening a lot since he had returned to his room after the confrontation with Professor Moody. No, not Moody, Crouch. Barty Crouch Jr.  
He wondered what it meant, that tingling. When Voldemort had touched his scar in the graveyard it had been agonizing. He had never felt pain like that before. He wasn't sure which was worse, the scar or the Cruciatus Curse he had endured. He sighed again, he didn't want to think about that either. Turning away from the window, he considered that the tingling maybe had something to do with Voldemort as well, but he didn't want to jump to conclusion, for all he knew it could be from the stress of the last day or lingering magic. Great, another thing he could add the the list of things he wanted to avoid thinking about. Taking off his glasses he rubbed his eyes with a thumb and pointer trying to push away the stinging he could feel behind his eyelids. He would not cry, he shed tears for Cedric already but he would not cry over his situation. He would not be weak or childish about it, he would hold his head up and he would stay strong.  
He sat down on his bed, not willing to attempt sleep, afraid of what he might see if he closed his eyes long enough. As the tingling faded away his thought's ventured back to the graveyard, despite his efforts to keep them away. He had done as Cedric asked him, brought his body back to his father. He meant what he said to the Headmaster, he couldn't leave him behind, not there, not with them. He was still shocked at how the event's had played out. Cedric hadn't been angry with him like he would have expected, if he had actually had the chance to think about it. He would have thought Cedric would have been furious with him, the portkey was meant him him, not Cedric, but the older boy had been the one to lose his life. All he had wanted was for his body to go back to his father though.  
Then there was his parent's. James and Lily Potter. He had only ever seen them in pictures, heard about them in stories from Remus and Sirius. But to actually have them standing by his sides like he had seen in the Mirror of Erised in first year, was both wonderful and heart wrenching at the same time. He wasn't sure what to make of the whole situation. They said they were proud of him, that they loved him, but somehow it seemed hollow to him. He supposed it was because they were already dead, and had been for so long. He momentarily entertained the thought of telling Aunt Petunia he had spoken to their ghost's, if only to see her horrified reaction. He choked out a little laugh that actually startled himself. In the next moment he felt guilt rise in his chest, he shouldn't be thinking about something like that. It was wrong, some might even say cruel to think of telling his aunt he had spoken the ghost of his mother, her dead sister.  
Another sigh, and more burning behind his eyes. At this rate he would make himself cry with depressing thoughts, instead of emotions from the past days events. He closed his eyes, thinking maybe he could get some sleep tonight seeing as he didn't feel really upset or scared at the moment. He flopped back on the bed carelessly letting his glasses fall beside him. Then that face flashed through his mind and he thought for sure his hearts had stopped. Pale, gleaming, greenish skin. Glowing, red slit eyes that seemed to tears straight into his soul, that raspy hissing voice speaking his name.  
"Harry Potter."  
He sat straight up, jerking as he floundered around for his glasses, before grasping them firmly. Sliding then onto his nose he looked around, still panicked and breathing heavily. Everything seemed to be fine, nothing out of place, everyone was still sleeping. He looked to the window, seeing the same dark sky and twinkling stars he had before he moved away from the window. He rubbed the back of his neck, standing up and moving back to the window. He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. He sat there a while longer before daring to let his mind wander to that face again. Why would the man look like that? He didn't understand what it could possibly mean. There was that tingling again. Almost like a feather so very lightly tickling his forehead. He sighed once more pressing his forehead against the cool glass in an attempt to stop the feeling. He offhandedly thought that he had been sighing way to much since coming back to the dorm room. Not that it really mattered any, soon enough he would be headed back to the Dursley's where any and everything magic was off limit's. He had the whole summer to avoid thinking about everything that happened this afternoon. Scratch that, everything that happened this year was more like it. He sat there, once again staring blankly out the window at the sky and the stars, not focusing on any of the thoughts that passed through his mind. He was asleep against the window before he even realized how tired he was.


End file.
